One of the Guys
by Yanagi-sen
Summary: One night in a bar, three mechanics discuss their pilots... silly rating for innuendo


One of the Guys

by Yanagi-sen

Gundam Wing fanfic 

Usual disclaimers apply.  I made up a couple names for this fic, but that's about all I can lay claim to.

Warnings: not much, implied yaoi, silliness

AC 196: Late Fall

            "Can you believe it?  And they expect them to be fixed by the day after tomorrow?!"

            "I hear ya.  Got the same problem over in our hanger."

            "Hey guys, long day?"

            "Evening, Miser.  Pull up a chair."

            "Hell yeah, it was a long day.  And tomorrow's gonna be even worse!"

            "What's up with Anka?"

            "Oh, don't mind him.  Master Quatre and a couple of his 'friends' showed up today.  He's got to get their suits fixed up and reloaded in two days."

            "Shit man!  I'm sorry.  If they look anything like Epyon does then you're in for one Hell of a week."

            Anka snorted and signaled the waitress for another beer.  Miser frowned.  "Anka, I though you were Muslim."

            "I am, sort of.  I'm just not really that strict.  And I deserve this tonight.  Rashid is such a slave driver."

            "Know what ya mean, so's Howard."

            "So, how **are things over at the Sweepers?"**

            Michael rolled his eyes.  "Deathscythe got trashed.  Zero's not much better."

            "They really got into it this time didn't they?"

            "You think the war would end if we all went on strike?"  The three mechanics looked at each other.

            "Naaahhh."

            "Most of our pilots can fix their own suits."

            "Even Master Quatre?"  Michael asked with a smile.

            Anka shook his head.  "He's actually not too bad.  It's harder to keep him **out of Sandrock."**

            "Don't have that problem with Duo.  He's happy to let us do the work, but the kid's good about pitching in when needed."

            "I'm glad Zechs doesn't even try."

            "Inept?"  
            "He wouldn't even know how to hold a tool.  It took several minutes for Anka and Michael to stop laughing at the mental picture of Zechs, grease smudge on his face, looking confusedly through the toolbox.

            "Ah, thanks, Miser.  I needed that."

            "Anka, d'you ever take a look around in the cockpits?"

            The Maquanac mechanic almost sprayed his beer.  He choked and then swallowed, glaring at Michael. 'cough' "Umm, eh, why?"

            Miser smirked, taking a sip of his drink.  "Find anything... interesting?"  Anka just rolled his eyes.

            "They're seventeen, what do **you think?"**

            "No, I meant d'you ever see what Duo has hung up in Deathscythe?"

            "A garter?" Miser guessed, having never met pilot 02.  Anka started laughing.  Michael snorted.  "Duo?  Not hardly.  No, he's got a pair of fuzzy dice."

            "Fuzzy dice?"

            "Fuzzy dice."  Miser just shook his head.  Anka was laughing so hard; tears were rolling down his face.

            Michael scowled at him.  "Okay fine, 'camel-boy'.  What's Quatre-sama got?"

            Anka sobered and stared into his beer.  "Pictures."

            "Pictures?  Of who?"

            "Oh, the other pilots, us Maquanacs, his little sister."

            "Why pictures?"  Miser seemed perplexed.

            "We think it is so if he starts to lose it with the Zero system again he has a reminder of who his friends are."  The three mechanics sobered, remembering what happened the last time Quatre lost it with the Zero system.  Miser broke the uncomfortable silence.

            "Notice there are almost no pictures of his family."  They laughed again.

            Anka perked up.  "There's actually a really cute one of Wufei.  If he ever sees it, Quatre-sama is in sooo much trouble."  

            "Is it good?"

            "Michael, get your mind out of the gutter, you hentai!"

            "You know it."

            "Now we know where Duo got it from."

            "Hey!"

            "How 'bout Zechs?"

            Miser smiled.  "He's got a mirror."

            "A mirror?"  
            "No joke, he's got a mirror."

            "What's he need it for with that mask?"

            "Oh, he doesn't always wear the mask."

            "He good looking?"

            "Michael!"  
            "What?"  
            "Hey Michael, you gotten close enough to look in Zero?"

            "I was in Wing." Miser offered.

            "Doesn't count, that was after he blew up."

            "Once, when Heero was injured."

            "Spill it man, what's the 'perfect soldier' got?"

            "I am absolutely serious, he's got a blond voodoo doll dangling from a noose."

            "One guess who that is supposed to be."

            "Does she show up over there too?"

            Michael grimaced.  "All the time."

            "I wish she'd leave the boys alone.  Heero seems happy with Duo and Tro."  
            "Duo **and Trowa?"**

            "You didn't know about that?"

            "Come on man, fill us in."

            "I swear we gossip worse than old women."  Miser commented as he signaled for another round.

            "I don't know details, but the three of them **always stay in the same room."**

            "Speaking of Trowa, what's he got in his cockpit?"

            "Don't know, Miser.  Michael?"

            "Got me.  Never been in Heavyarms."

            "So what **could he have?  Any guesses?"**

            "I got it, I got it.  Extra-hold, industrial strength hairspray."  Anka just about fell out of his chair.  Miser gave an exasperated sigh and Michael just beamed at his own brilliance.  Miser turned to Anka.

            "Wufei?"

            "Besides his sword of course."  Michael added.

            "A gavel.  Duo gave it as a joke."

            " 'Where's the justice?' "  Laughter rang out again, mingling with the general noise of the bar.

            "This is fun.  Who are we leaving out?"

            "Hey Miser, how 'bout Noin?"

            "Don't know."

            "Guess."

            "Um, a lock of Zechs' hair?"

            "No, a dart board with Wufei's picture on it."

            "Wait, wait, wait.  A picture of Zechs in a heart-shaped frame."

            "You win, Michael."

            "How about Une next?"

            "Oh, Miser.  She's scary."  
            "Not to mention crazy."  Michael added.

            "That too."

            "Let's see."  Michael stared up at the ceiling.  "We need something for each personality.  Colonial Une would have a pair of handcuffs and Lady Une, a feather."

            Anka and Miser just stared at him.  "I don't even want to know."  Miser said.  The Maquanac just shuddered.

            "All right, we're up to Treize."

            "Hey, how about the winner pays the tab?"

            "You got it."

            "Deal.  Who's goin' first?"

            "Me."  Anka thought for a moment.  "A bottle of fine wine, some caviar, and a pair of opera glasses."  They all chuckled.

            "I'll go next."  Miser jumped in.  Michael scowled.  "A rose sachet hanging between two, framed pictures.  Once of Zechs, sans mask of course; and one of Wufei."

            Anka and Michael's eyes nearly popped out.  "**Wufei?!" they chorused.**

            "Oh.  Guess you guys didn't know about that huh?"  
            Michael chuckled evilly.  "Oh, that's priceless.  The original 'justice-man' himself, sleepin' with the enemy."

            "They don't seem to get together as much anymore.  But... yeah."

            "He's got Quatre to keep him busy now."  Anka commented.

            "Are they like, serious?"

            "We sound like we're in junior high."  Miser mumbled.

            Anka smirked at him.  "Yeah, they're more or less permanently attached.  Half his sisters are happy he's found someone, the other half want to throttle him."

            "You don't seem to have any problem with it."

            "In a group as large as the Maquanac corps there's bound to be a few that bend that way.  Not me!  So keep your hands to yourself, ecchi."  Michael turned speculative eyes on Miser.

            "Me neither."

            "You guys are no fun."

            "Come on Michael.  It's your turn."

            "It is isn't it?  Umm, let me think."  He sat back, eyes narrowed in thought.  "Got it.  A jar a Grey Poupon."

            "What?"

            "Haven't you ever seen those old commercials?  The one car pulls up to the other and says.  'Pardon me.  But do you have any Grey Poupon?' "  He said it in his best phony British accent.  The other two just shook their heads.

            "You're weird."

            "Thank you."

            "Not **that way.  Well, that way too."**

            "So who won?  I'm out."  Miser asked, holding up his empty glass.

            "Me."  A familiar voice broke in from above them.  They looked up and there was the leader of OZ himself.  Miser paled, Anka swallowed nervously.  Michael mumbled under his breath, 'Oh God, we're gonna die.'

            "Um, so what **do you have in your cockpit, sir?"**

            "A picture of my ex-wife."  He met their confused looks calmly.

            "Why, sir?"  Michael finally asked.

            Treize smiled, the sort of goofy smile of someone who is a little drunk.  "So I can imagine the bitch is in every mobile doll I destroy."  He tossed some money down on the table.  "Evening, gentlemen."  They watched as he turned and walked out.

            "That was... odd."

            "No kidding.  Hey Anka, we met Treize and we survived."

            He didn't know who we were, idiot."

            "Oh, he knew.  He must like you."

            "Really?  He seeing anyone?"

            "Don't go there Michael, just don't go there."

            "Well, I'm off.  Same time next week?"

            "Sure, Miser.  Provided one of us doesn't get shipped out or dead between now and then."

            "See ya'll next week.  Same 'bat-time', same 'bat-channel'."

            "Michael."

            "Yeah?"

            "You're weird."

-sin sin, tis done-

Okaaaay, I know that one is, different compared to what I usually write.  Basically, this came from a conversation I had with a friend of mine.  We started debating what each pilot would have in their cockpit… this fic is the result.  Course, Miser is the only mechanic that ever gets a name in GW so I had to use him.  Then I thought it would be cool to use someone in each camp, cause the support staff never really gets the credit they deserve.  They don't really care who is on what side, only that their machines are functional and their pilots come home.  And the idea of Treize showing up at a bar… *snicker*  Oh, and the Relena voodoo doll… when I finally got the figures of the pilots, the set came with Relena.  Now, I don't really like Relena all that much, especially in that ridiculous 'cabin boy' outfit… so she dangles from a noose on my monitor.  A little sick and twisted?  No… not me…  ^_~


End file.
